Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. Her arms and feet were uncovered, and of almost skeleton thinness. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. "Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed. Section 1.
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